


Golden Leaves, But Sometimes

by twobirdsonesong



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Anon Prompt, Awkward Conversations, Birthday, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fill, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon prompt: hi, i love your writing and i was wondering if you've heard the song 'golden leaves' by passenger, the song is lovely and the lyrics remind me of crisscolfer (angsty) it would be great if you could write a fic inspired by its story (maybe reminiscing but take it whatever way you want e.g happy ending or sad), thank you</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golden Leaves, But Sometimes

Chris does not remember the last birthday party he went to.  It’s been years, he’s sure, longer still for one celebrating the man of the night.  But he’d been told the time and place and there had been no reason not to come. They are in the same city now, for what worth it has.  Excuses are a thing of the past.

 

Even as the hired car approaches the club the party is being hosted at, Chris can see the lights of paparazzi flashing.  He knew this evening would be this kind of night – loud, falsely public, overwhelming – but it still catches him as off guard as anything can these days.

 

It had taken him all day to get ready – to pull suits out of his closet and then shove them away a hundred times over as he teetered back and forth between the choice to go and the want to stay.  And then 15 minutes to throw his clothes on and rush out of the door when he made the final decision to come out this night.

  
But the sight of the flashing cameras and the knowledge of who waits inside the dark club makes Chris pause, makes him breathe in deeply and rub his sweating palms on his thighs.

 

He would linger in the car, to gather himself, but the valet is too quick to the door and Chris has to get out before he’s ready.  It’s snowing that February evening and Chris shivers even under his heavy coat as his overpriced shoes slip a little on the slick ground. He does not look or wave at the line of photographers waiting to see who will show up tonight, but he can still hear the surprised shouting of his name as he rushes past.

 

His name is on the list at the door and that is as much of a surprise as it is not. A black band is snapped around his wrist and he’s ushered inside.

 

It’s dark the way all clubs are dark, but the music is bright and upbeat and jazzy. Chris can see a live band on a stage at the back, smartly dressed and grinning, and Chris is not surprised by that at all.

  
“Can I bring you a drink, sir?”

 

Chris startles when a waiter appears at his side.  “Uhm, whiskey sour?”

 

“Certainly.”

  
Chris stays where he is while the waiter slides away, not wanting to go too far before he gets his drink.  The club is packed, but not uncomfortably so, and Chris takes stock of faces he recognizes and those he doesn’t.

 

People he once called friends slip past him and Chris does not call out. He is not there that night for them. He knows time has left its mark on him – the crows feet at his eyes and the twinge he gets in his back in the morning – but it’s more apparent on the faces he has not seen in so long. It’s a strange relief, in a way, to know that they all still share something across the years.

 

Chris is sipping his drink when his eyes finally find what he’s been looking for since he walked inside.

 

Darren is standing near the bar, surrounded by men in suits and women in expensive dresses.  The theme of the night is the 1940s, in honor of Darren’s 40th birthday, though Chris is pretty sure no one is actually wearing anything remotely from that era. But it’s fitting, Chris thinks, to see Darren once again in a sharp black suit and tails.  He even has a pink carnation at his lapel and Chris wonders if he too remembers, if that’s been done on purpose or just coincidence.

 

The mere sight of him unlocks something in Chris.  He can feel it in his chest, his gut, making room for the person Darren has always been to him.  It makes it hard to breathe and yet Chris feels sated and comforted the way he always has around Darren.

 

When Darren looks up and across the club, his eyes are the sun even in this darkness.

 

Chris waits and watches Darren’s expression shift like sand across his face as though watching a scene on stage – recognition becoming surprise then finding what Chris thinks is something like relief.

 

Chris raises his drink to Darren, a salute, and nods his head, expecting nothing but the same from Darren in return. But Chris’ breath catches when he sees Darren excuse himself from the group around him and stride across the floor with clear purpose in his steps.  Chris quickly knocks back half his drink before Darren stops in front of him, as close as he’s been in too many years and too many miles.

 

“Mr. Colfer,” Darren says and the sound of his voice, even half-drowned under the music, is a call to arms for Chris.

 

“Happy birthday, Darren.”

  
Darren moves and Chris has a moment of panic that they’re about to share a horribly awkward attempt at a handshake or something worse, but Darren pushes into his space like he never left it.  The hug is too brief, but strong, and so blindingly familiar that Chris cannot think for it.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Darren says when he finally pulls back, though his hands linger on Chris’ waist for a moment too long to be anything but remembered touch.

 

“Yeah, I...well I didn’t know if I was coming until I got here,” Chris admits. The time of lying to each other is long gone.

 

Darren laughs and it deepens the lines at the corners of his eyes.  “Well I’m glad you’re here.  It’s been too long.”

 

“It has.”

 

Chris takes a moment to just look.  He’s seen Darren over the years, but almost always from the distance a screen provides.  But images on his TV have not done Darren justice.  They have not shown the brush of grey in his hair and the shade of it in his beard. They have not accentuated the way his eyes seemed to have darkened with age, like the liquor in Chris’ glass. Darren has always exuded a brightness that used to make Chris want to look away, but age has banked it into a warmth that suffuses through his whole being.  Chris does not want to look away.

 

“You look good,” Chris says before he can tell himself not to.  If the time for lies is over, then maybe the hour for truth has replaced it.

 

“So do you,” Darren replies and there is no lie in his voice either.

 

Chris shuffles and does not know what to do from here.  His plan had been to come to Darren’s birthday, to acknowledge the milestone of the year and the celebration of the next Broadway role he’s landed, and that was it.  He had not thought far enough ahead to consider what he might do if he actually found Darren, if they actually spoke.

 

“It’s a great party,” Chris offers lamely and then winces.  Talking to Darren had once been so easy. Almost as easy as kissing.

 

Darren glances around.  “Yeah, I mean, the ‘40s for 40’ idea was a little obvious but hey, why not?” He shrugs ruefully. “No one has ever accused me of being subtle.”

 

Chris snorts.  “No.”

 

“Do you wanna step outside?”  Darren asks and Chris is caught with his glass halfway to his lips.  “With me?”

 

“This is your party,” Chris points out.

 

Darren shrugs. “So?”

 

And Chris can see it in Darren’s eyes.  This party is not for _him_ , but for everyone else.  This party is for the people who aren’t really his friends and the media who pretend that they are. Chris remembers all those long nights, those empty events in celebration of something fleeting, and understands.

  
“All right,” Chris agrees and Darren’s smile is well remembered too.

 

Outside it’s cold and still snowing.  Chris gratefully buttons up his coat he’d grabbed from coat-check, but wishes he’d worn a scarf too.  They’d slipped out of the back door and the alley behind the club is empty and quiet – as quiet as any place in this part of Manhattan can be on a Saturday night.

 

“So,” Chris says, shuffling awkwardly, not knowing what he might possibly say. The last time he was alone with Darren was decidedly different.

 

“So.”

 

Sirens blare in the distance and Chris wishes he had another drink.  “How are you?”

 

“Good,” Darren nods and his hands are deep in his pockets.  “Fine.  You?”

 

“Yeah, good.” And Chris hates this. He hates this stark and stilted awkwardness.  He hates the distance between them he knows was built there by them both, if but for different reasons.

 

He had known it would be weird the first time they truly saw each other again, after so much and so long, but knowing hadn’t prepared him for this. He hadn’t been prepared for how awful it would feel to talk to Darren like he was nearly a stranger, to stand before him unsure of where to put his hands or where to look. It hadn’t prepared him for the way his heart would struggle to beat properly, like it was trying to match a rhythm it remembered but couldn’t find.

 

“So this is really fucking weird,” Darren finally says, all in a rush, and it’s just enough to break Chris into a laugh.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call after--”

 

Chris shakes his head and holds his hand up.  “God, no. Don’t.  I should have called you.”  Of all the things Chris has forgotten over the years, the things said and unsaid between him and Darren are not among them.

 

Darren takes a small step towards him, and then rocks back.  “It wasn’t like – I didn’t mean…”

 

“No, I know.  I mean, I figured it out, but then it was…”

 

“Too late.” Darren finishes for him and Chris nods.  The sadness is still there, but like so many other things, it’s changed, shifted into something new, if not better.  Now it’s a regret for the long years lost and the things never done.

 

“Yeah. I mean, it felt that way.”

 

“I know. But I’d never meant for it--”

 

“Neither did I,” Chris interrupts and even though the time for apologies has long past, he can feel another lock loosening inside of him.

  
Chris can see Darren relaxing too, his shoulders dropping, face softening into an expression so familiar to Chris it’s hard for him to look at.

 

He doesn’t know what he wants from this, from himself or from Darren.  He came to this party with no thoughts, no expectations, but standing here now with Darren so close and the time lost between them shrinking has Chris shivering with maybes.

 

Darren has always been the piece of him that he cannot control, the part of him that scares him the most.  But a decade is a long time, longer when spent alone, and the things that once worried him are dead and gone and turn to dust.

 

“Darren,” Chris says, and then loses what he thought he might have wanted to say.

 

“Chris.” His voice is pitched low, private even though they’re alone and the sound of it echoes across the decade.

 

“Do you…I mean, that is--” Chris can feel himself blushing and swallowing down the words even though not speaking has been one of their biggest faults. He’s learning though.

 

Darren steps closer, close enough Chris can see every eyelash.  “Do you wanna get out of here? Get some coffee or something?”

 

And Chris breathes out into the night.  “Yes.”


End file.
